A dash of honey
by Knights of Silence
Summary: He could count on one hand the number of people who knew him well. Even less that truly cared for him. His father was one of those people. No pairing. AU.


_**A/N This story was inspired by **Hydra no Mago. **This is a one-shot only. But I do love favorites and reviews. I hope it isn't too cliché.**_

_**I do have to say that sick-fics are my specialty. Although it's not really meant to be sick-fic-ish.**_

_**Disclaimer- I own my plot, but that's it.**_

_A dash of honey_

Alfred Jones was not the best with words. Nor was he the best at writing down his feelings. Usually when he wanted to communicate with his friends, what little people did want to talk to him outside of school, he would flick his phone on and text them.

Not to say that he had a lot of people to text. Sure he was the star quarterback and had a cheery facade, but not many dug deeper. The only person who knew he was lonely would have been the person who knew him best. His little brother Matthew. But even the young Canadian couldn't know everything.

Some feelings he didn't want to show through to his adoptive family. After all, his father was so kinda, so caring. He treated Alfred the same way as his real son Matthew. His father, Francis, never let the bad things show. Not matter how bad things got, how sad things were, he would take both boys into his arms and smile widely.

Even at the rainy gray funeral for one of his best friends, he smiled widely all the while tear dripping down his face. Every year on the anniversary of his lovely wife's death. Yes, Francis had much sadness in his life, and yet, he was the best most cheerful person that Alfred knew.

Alfred often wished that he could more like his father. More like Matthew too. Even though his brother complained that he was invisible and easily over shadowed by Alfred's greatness. But Matthew couldn't, no wouldn't, understand that Alfred wished to be more like him. Being more visible didn't mean he had more friends. Not real ones anyways.

"Alfred!" Matthew shouted through the closed wooden door.

The adopted American could practicality hear his brother push his glasses up his nose with his index finger. He grumbled turning over in his half a wake stupor. "What?"

"Papa said that dinner is ready. You should hurry or we might start without you."

Alfred mumbled sleepily. "But I'm so comfy."

"Get up you lazy bum." Matthew knocked on the door, bringing his hand down to cradle the brass knob. With a firm, swift twist, he listened to the click only to push the door in seconds after finding the latch loosen. "What are you even doing asleep at this time?"

"Fooooooo." Was all he managed before shoving his head back into his fluffy pillow. His bed creaked audibly under his weight.

"Football this football that. Hockey is a tough sport too." Matthew mocked him with a wide smile growing on his face. But with a short sigh his brother huffed out quickly after. "I'll tell papa you need a few minutes."

"Thank you." He let out a small whisper.

Blonde head sinking further into the pillow, he let his eyes close again. It was warm. So warm. His bed was his safe haven from the cruel uncaring world. He could count on one hand the number of people he though cared about him. There was Matthew, their father, and Arthur.

But Arthur was another story completely. The had never met him face to face. Really, he couldn't even be sure that this person's name was Arthur or that he was a male. There circumstances were strange but they still managed to be friends. Most would call it pen pales, but they were more of texting buddies that met by accident.

Over time they had become friends. Arthur, whom Alfred often referred to as Iggy to piss him off, taught him many things. Like that magic could be real if only enough people believed. Fairies often drove him up a wall, and there was a unicorn named Charles who refused to leave the bathtub. Although they did take about normal things every once in a while. Like Arthur loved to travel. He had been to France many time.

_Git! _Arthur texted him, rousing him from his slumber.

"Alfred!" Matthew called from down stairs.

Alfred mumbled, opening his blurry eyes to look at the screen of his phone. Fumbling around for his glasses, that were pushed up in his cowlicked hair, he called to his brother. "I'll be down in a minute."

_How lovely to hear from you. Is there something you need. Flarina got her wings caught in the cupboard again?_

_You being civil? Who are you and what have you done with my prat?_

_I'm tired. _Alfred yawned standing from his bed. He did give a small laugh at Arthur's silly insults.

_A cold maybe? Drink some tea._

_Tea? I didn't believe in tea! I believe in Coke and Pepsi._

_Just a a bit of honey, should help with your picky taste._

Alfred smirked, shoving his phone into his pocket on the way out of his bedroom door. Although they had never met, Arthur somehow managed to know what he was like and why. Like that the American would never be asleep that time a day. And even though it was still evening time for Alfred, it was late at night for Arthur.

"Alfred." His father folded his arms over his chest. "We held dinner for an hour."

"An hour? But Mattie was just upstairs a few minutes ago." The American rubbed his eye.

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up at midnight. After they ate dinner he went back up the stairs to the comfort of his room, his bed. Sitting up he gave a light cough and looked at his scattered covers. His sheets were half off his bed and his blanket was almost on the otherside of the room.<p>

He laughed almost inaudible. His stupid Iggy curses him with his dark magic. Or maybe the fairies were mad that he stole Iggy's time away from them.

Rolling off his bed, Alfred landed on his hands and knees on the carpeted floor. His stomach turned uneasily.

"Papa." He said weakly making his way to his father's opened door. The light dully light the end of the hallway.

"Mon fils?" Francis said tiredly. "What is it?"

"My stomach feels funny and my throat hurts." Alfred croaked honestly.

With weary blue eyes and a small smile his softly spoken voice carried through the room. "How about so tea?"

"It's bitter."

"Oui, but it will help you feel better. And of course papa knows how to make it sweet." The Frenchman patted his bed. He waited for his eldest son to scramble up before tucking him into the covers and making his way out to the kitchen.

After a few minutes he returned with a mug. Steam billowed out from the top. He handed it to Alfred and pushed his blonde hair back as the teen took the mug.

"Mon fils, do you know how long it's been since you called me papa?" He said patting the annoying cowlick down.

"No."

"The last time you were sick. Right after you can to live with us. Do you not like calling me papa?"

"It's... it's not that." Alfred put the glass up to his lips taking a small sip.

"Oh?"

"Mattie calls you papa because you are his." He took another sip.

"I'm your papa too. It's been so long since you've come here."

Alfred closed his eyes and to a deep breath, the smell of tea filled his nostrils. "It's sweet."

"Of course. I know how to make something nice for my son."

_Just add a dash of honey._


End file.
